Who Will Dance?
by 15Acesplz
Summary: Romano is upset because he thinks no one likes him. Just for kicks he has an awko-taco conversation with Enlgand. Spamano. Rated T for Romano's mouth.


**A/N: Read this if you're a fan of well-written cliches. I don't own Hetalia.**

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Antonio.

Antonio and Feliciano dancing together.

Antonio dipping Feliciano at the end of the song.

Feliciano giving Antonio a kiss of the cheek as a thank-you.

Romano didn't want to see anymore. But that didn't stop what he'd already seen from running through his head as he pushed his way past the crowd and out the door to America's backyard.

"Chigi!" he kicked the side of the house, his eyes burning. He shouldn't cry. It was so weak. But he was just like that, wasn't he? Weak and pathetic, exactly like his little brother. The only difference was that everyone thought the younger Vargas was cuter, and sweeter, and much more talented." Chigi…" He repeated, more quietly, doing his best to mop up his face.

"Hello."

Romano wheeled around. England was sitting at a large patio table. "What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded.

"Attempting to escape the antics of Alfred's party." England stared penetratingly at him. "Are you-"

"I'm not crying, tea bastard!"

"-going to sit down?" He finished.

Romano's face flushed. He scowled at the Brit and dropped into the nearest chair.

"So," England began awkwardly. "Have you been enjoying the party?"

Romano almost laughed. "Yeah, it's fan-fucking-tastic."

"Ah…" The other seemed to think this over. "Why exactly were you, ahem, _not_ crying?"

"None of your business!" Romano snapped. England raised an enormous eyebrow. The brunette clenched his teeth and muttered, "It's all Spanga's fault."

The door crashed open. They both turned. "Romano!" Spain loped over, his usual vapid grin on his face. "There you are."

England glanced from Spain to Romano, and smiled wryly. "Speak of the devil..." He said under his breath.

Romano glared at him, then looked back to Spain. "What do you want, bastardo?" He snarled.

Spain didn't seem fazed by the irate Italian's attitude; if anything, his smile grew at the sharp words. "I brought tomatoes from my garden." He held up four of the red fruits as proof. "I know my Roma likes them~"

"I don't want them. Go give them to my fratello." Romano said bitterly.

Spain cocked his head, looking like a confused dog. "Italy just left…"

Romano jumped up. He'd had enough. "No! Italy didn't leave1 I'm still here, aren't I? I'm Italy, too, damnit!" He stood there, seething, those stupid tears pricking at his eyes again.

A shocked silence had taken over. England broke through the barrier, eliciting an, "Um…" The other two looked at him. "I should probably… go. Have a pleasurable evening, the both of you." He left hurriedly.

"Lovi…" Spain said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Why would you care? Romano sneered. "Why would anyone give a damn about Italy's useless brother?"

"Because I love you!" Spain cried, beaming as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Romano chocked. "W-what!? Don't say things like that, bastard!"

"But it's true~!" He reached over and started playing with the shorter man's hair, his fingers briefly brushing against his curl.

Romano went scarlet and slapped Spain's hand away. "How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my hair, jerk!" But the curl seemed to have weakened his resolve. "And if you love me than why were you dancing the fucking tango with Veneziano?"

Spain shrugged, still looking at him with rapture. "I like to dance, Roma." He leaned forward and caught Romano in a kiss.

The tsundere barely had time to react. By the time he did, all he could think was that he was kissing the one person who thought he was important, and damn, Spain was a good kisser. Romano could feel it in his knees.

Then it was over. Romano finally came to his senses and kicked the Spaniard's shin. He dropped the tomatoes and rubbed the bruise forming on his leg, half wincing- half smiling up at his accoster. "Still want me to give mi tomatoes to Ita-chan?"

Romano rolled his eyes and picked up one of the runaway fruits, biting into it. "Idiota."

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**A/N: I told you it was a cliche. But I'm no longer sure about 'well-written'. I just noticed, it's all "Romano, Romano, Romano". I don't really have any creative names for him. Blah. If you caught my _Pretty in Pink _reference, you get one of Spain's tomatoes.**


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